(A)typical Monday?

My mind and body weary from a parade of disruptive nightmares, I good-morninged my feline companion and stumbled out of bed. Showered, preparing breakfast, an urgent-mother voice called from outside — was something wrong? No; the builder's Staffordshire bull terrier had muscled its way through the derelict fence, into our backyard. Between leg-cocks and exploration it received pats from us and interacted gently with our own canine. It looked like a wombat crossed with a muscly brown bear. Arnie, for that was his name, responded to hand-claps with a wagging run, and enjoyed more pats with snuffles of satisfaction.

The sardine-tin was late to arrive. Fortunate because I was not exactly on-time, and unfortunate because it meant I was sharing with more sardines than usual. At my stop I was bustled out of the carriage by a pair of middle-aged breasts, which jabbed repeatedly into my back. I was rewarded with a better-than-usual morning meeting with the boss, and later we celebrated a birthday with apple and raspberry cake. Monday was off to a shaky start, but has turned out all right.